something about a Kindra.” A tremble permeated her words. “I did the best I could with Xabier.”
Ginger put her hand over Gloria’s gloved fingers. “Parenting is never easy. I have four kids myself. And you did it alone.”
In the distance, a boat motor sputtered. A group of people carrying champagne bottles burst out of the back doors of the Wind-Up laughing and chattering. Their revelry faded as they made their way to the street.
“Okay, boys and girls, lets play a game called Calamity PD Profiler.” After four hours of sleep and a cheese and onion omelet, Cynthia Mallory’s confidence had returned. Alex Simpson had identified the dead squirrel as his Binky a few hours ago. Forensics was going over the last place Dustin was seen alive, the backstage areas of the inventors convention floor. Unfortunately, they had to close down the convention. The investigation was moving along.
She paced Dustin’s ransacked apartment and addressed her audience of two, Jacobson and a uniformed officer. “Crime-scene people combed through this place early this morning. There is no reason to believe the murder, and we are calling it murder at this point, took place here.” Mallory pulled a piece of gum from her back pocket. Gum was almost like food; at least you got to chew. “Dustin Clydell’s apartment is still useful to us for two reasons. Jacobson, what are those two reasons?”
Jacobson stepped forward, embracing the role of eager student. She addressed the officer. “One, the apartment tells us what kind of a person the victim was. Two, the apartment was gone through around the time of the murder, so the murder and the B and E may be connected.”
Mallory turned toward the officer, who leaned against the door. Her experience was that the more the uniformed officers felt like they were part of the crime-solving process, the more likely they were to bother pursuing leads they ran into on patrol. “So why would someone do this to the victims place after he is dead?”
The officer planted his feet shoulder-width apart, straightening his posture, a pose suggesting a military background. “Leftover rage or looking for something.”
“Excellent.” Mallory took note of the officers nod and smile. “Lets face it. Stuffing a squirrel down someone’s throat is a crime of rage.”
Mallory continued to pace, hands linked behind her back, chewing her gum in rhythm to her steps. Desk drawers had been opened and dumped and books pulled off shelves. Towels, silverware, crackers, and boxes of chocolate had been dumped on the counter. Her guess was that it wasn’t about rage; the destruction appeared to be a search for something specific and small. Enough books were scattered across the floor to suggest that the ransacker was looking for something flat, a document, maybe.
“No doughnut this morning, Jacobson?” The comment was filler while she paced and tried to think of the next line of questioning.
“I ate it before you came, and I had the $2.99 breakfast buffet. They have really good—”
Mallory held up her hand and chewed her gum with furious intensity. “Don’t go there.”
“What if I only mention protein products?” Jacobson raised her eyebrows.
A moment of shared humor passed between the two detectives. Mallory rolled her eyes. She was taking this diet thing too seriously. It was making her hostile in weird ways. What kind of person forbids other people to mention certain kinds of food? Mallory circled the room. “Let’s go back to our first reason. These are less-than-perfect circumstances, but pretend like everything is in its place. What does this apartment tell us?” Mallory swept her arm across the room. “What kind of a guy designs a hotel around a classic-toys theme?” The officer looked like he was barely out of his twenties. “There are no wrong answers here. Brainstorm with me.”
He shifted his weight, ran his hands through his hair. “A guy who is still a kid inside.” His words were measured out
Ginger put her hand over Gloria’s gloved fingers. “Parenting is never easy. I have four kids myself. And you did it alone.”
In the distance, a boat motor sputtered. A group of people carrying champagne bottles burst out of the back doors of the Wind-Up laughing and chattering. Their revelry faded as they made their way to the street.
“Okay, boys and girls, lets play a game called Calamity PD Profiler.” After four hours of sleep and a cheese and onion omelet, Cynthia Mallory’s confidence had returned. Alex Simpson had identified the dead squirrel as his Binky a few hours ago. Forensics was going over the last place Dustin was seen alive, the backstage areas of the inventors convention floor. Unfortunately, they had to close down the convention. The investigation was moving along.
She paced Dustin’s ransacked apartment and addressed her audience of two, Jacobson and a uniformed officer. “Crime-scene people combed through this place early this morning. There is no reason to believe the murder, and we are calling it murder at this point, took place here.” Mallory pulled a piece of gum from her back pocket. Gum was almost like food; at least you got to chew. “Dustin Clydell’s apartment is still useful to us for two reasons. Jacobson, what are those two reasons?”
Jacobson stepped forward, embracing the role of eager student. She addressed the officer. “One, the apartment tells us what kind of a person the victim was. Two, the apartment was gone through around the time of the murder, so the murder and the B and E may be connected.”
Mallory turned toward the officer, who leaned against the door. Her experience was that the more the uniformed officers felt like they were part of the crime-solving process, the more likely they were to bother pursuing leads they ran into on patrol. “So why would someone do this to the victims place after he is dead?”
The officer planted his feet shoulder-width apart, straightening his posture, a pose suggesting a military background. “Leftover rage or looking for something.”
“Excellent.” Mallory took note of the officers nod and smile. “Lets face it. Stuffing a squirrel down someone’s throat is a crime of rage.”
Mallory continued to pace, hands linked behind her back, chewing her gum in rhythm to her steps. Desk drawers had been opened and dumped and books pulled off shelves. Towels, silverware, crackers, and boxes of chocolate had been dumped on the counter. Her guess was that it wasn’t about rage; the destruction appeared to be a search for something specific and small. Enough books were scattered across the floor to suggest that the ransacker was looking for something flat, a document, maybe.
“No doughnut this morning, Jacobson?” The comment was filler while she paced and tried to think of the next line of questioning.
“I ate it before you came, and I had the $2.99 breakfast buffet. They have really good—”
Mallory held up her hand and chewed her gum with furious intensity. “Don’t go there.”
“What if I only mention protein products?” Jacobson raised her eyebrows.
A moment of shared humor passed between the two detectives. Mallory rolled her eyes. She was taking this diet thing too seriously. It was making her hostile in weird ways. What kind of person forbids other people to mention certain kinds of food? Mallory circled the room. “Let’s go back to our first reason. These are less-than-perfect circumstances, but pretend like everything is in its place. What does this apartment tell us?” Mallory swept her arm across the room. “What kind of a guy designs a hotel around a classic-toys theme?” The officer looked like he was barely out of his twenties. “There are no wrong answers here. Brainstorm with me.”
He shifted his weight, ran his hands through his hair. “A guy who is still a kid inside.” His words were measured out
Similar Books
